Scarlet generation
by Le Chameau Trisomique
Summary: [Alternative Universe] [One-Shot] Childhood does not always rhyme with happiness. /!\Character's death/!\ /!\Dark Universe/!\
1. Just a game

**Meh, it's me again!**

**So here is a (very short) OS about childhood, featuring Alfred and Ivan~**

**It's a AU again, and yes, I killed someone again.**

***screw myself***

**It's sad, but it's my writing style. Also remember, I'm French so maybe there will be some grammatical mistakes and I'm so, so, so sorry about it dudes . But eating frog, bread, wine and cheese every fucking day makes you stupid! *feel the irony***

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine**

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Zephyr oozed through the green valley as the two boys ran down the steep path, watching them with amusement. The windy spectre followed the lads, passing via the lamenting turf, whipping both children white calfs. They did not stop in spite of the pain pumping throughout their veins, it excited them even more.

They ran, ran, ran, kicking, insulting, scratching, pushing each other away, until one of them saw the verdant hill. Alfred fist smacked Ivan's poor cheek leaving the little Russian behind his American fellow.

"That's not fair you cheater!" cried the blondest one pursuing the other one.

"It's the game Marxist! You are way too weak for the HERO!"

The slave clenched his teeth and ran faster. His body was animated by a rage full will, he wanting to hurt Alfred, even thought they were friends, he wanted to make him cry. Because he felt offended and he wanted revenge. His left hand grabbed the American's T-shirt, firing him behind violently. The young boy's breath jammed. Alfred felt his throat burning as he waved awkwardly his arms looking for vital air. Ivan threw his friend on the ground, glancing at him, feeling superior.

"You son of a bitch…"

Alfred jumped on Ivan, tackling him on the ground and began to punch him aggressively. Ivan's lips were bleeding and he grinned, satisfied by the scarlet fluid pearling.

"You're redder than your fucking flag now Marxist!"

This time it was Ivan who stroke Alfred. The American groaned in pain, the Russian gave him a victorious smirk. Furious, the second boy immediately respond to the provocation.

They were beating each other to death on the hill, ignoring the pain, feeling excited by the soaking consistence of half-dried blood in their small hands. Ivan was sitting on Alfred's stomach tightening his little plump fingers around the others neck and smiled when he felt his nails digging into his flesh, the amusing scarlet fluid running down both his hand again. Alfred tried to shout at Ivan, begging him to stop with his horrified regard, struggling ferociously for his life. But Ivan did not care eaten away by the Revenge. He is insane, thought Alfred regarding the grey somber sky, God please help me!

Something cold and humid landed on Alfred's forehead, contrasting with his burning chest, quickly followed by other, dripping down, dripping down, dripping down… _The sky is crying with me_… It was the last thing he thought before closing his eyes for an endless rest. Zephyr took the small bitter pearl in the child's eyes corner away. _Farewell Alfred_, wind embraced his inanimate body for the last time.

Ivan looked at his maroon sticky and animated by a mad ecstasy he stood up and threw his hand up to the wet welkin, washing quickly the red paint away. Somewhere, the thunder rang. The little boy's body was shook by a demented chortle, and he shouted alone on the humid hill echoing to the heavens roar:

"I'M THE KING OF THE CASTLE!"

Only a suffocated lament answer him. Silence.

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**Meh, Review?**


	2. Ambition

**Just an argument between two young friends. It is not historically ****correct, neither it is funny but I found it quite interesting so I decides to post it here.**

**Again Hetalia and its characters aren't mine.**

"Blood only serves to wash ambition's hands."

LORD BYRON

"You know, I'm really sorry for you Gilbert…"

"Uh? Why?"

The boy flipped his body over to face his friend Francis that was watching the clouds. The blond turned his head and stared quite surprised at Gilbert for a few seconds.

"Well.." he started uneasy, "Your dad died during the war….. So I though…"

"Oh."

"You know I'm really sorry for you and your brother… And of course for your mother too, hope everything is going okay at your place…"

Gilbert turned back, gazing at the sky. Francis felt terribly uncomfortable and wondered if his best friend was mad at him.

"Hey Gil, I'm really sorry… I did not want to make you sad.."

Nothing.

"Hey Gil.. Please… Don't sulk me!"

Silence.

"Well… Call me if you ever want to talk with me again."

He rolled to the right to not see Gil's face anymore and start pulling up nervously grass. Time passed so slowly that seconds felt like hours for him. Finally after long minutes of silence Gilbert poked his back.

"Hey, Francis. It's fine. I'm not mad or sad or whatever you were thinking I was. Don't be sorry for my dad. It's fine."

"Are you sure?" asked the blond one as he turned around, "You looked like if you were going to cry a few minutes ago."

"I do not cry!"

"Okay, okay, but still, you looked really sad about your dad's death."

"Well…."

Gilbert lay down again by falling heavily on his back next to his friend. His eyes started gazing at the clouds again.

"I thought my dad was a sort of hero before, even though he was just a barber in a little town. He was really tall and really strong and really intelligent and I admired him a lot. But he had no ambition at all and was happy of being a barber for his whole life. Do you know he was already barber even before I was born? That's like at least twelve years! I would have died of boredom!"

"Haha sure, you're the quickest bored person ever, you can't even read a newspaper article."

"Hey, stop making fun of me and listen! So, my dad had no ambition and he died because of that."

"Wait, that is nonsense. Lack of ambition does not kill you!"

"Yes it does Francis. Think of it a little. World isn't a pony paradise full of lovely loving fairies you know?"

"Of course, I'm not four anymore idiot."

"Real life is tough. Nobody can survive without some ambition. Every great men were full of ambition. It gets you to the top of the pyramid, it helps you to get rid of every sort of obstacles, it makes you stronger. Nobody wants to be the weakest, because the weak ones die quicker. Nobody really wants to die, even the people who commit suicide. But if you don't fight at all, some days you'll end up lying in a graveyard."

"Everybody ends up lying in a graveyard."

"But the lackadaisical ones first. Life is a sort of reverse race, you want to be the last one to get to the end of it. But in order to be the last, you must push everybody else to it. My dad was too nice, he died because he was ingenuous."

"Being nice is not a bad thing Gil, I'm nice to you and you don't hate it."

"I didn't say being nice is a bad thing, I said being TOO nice is bad."

"Well, it is not going to kill you anyway."

"If someone tells you to hold a bomb for him because he doesn't want to die and you do it, you're too nice."

"No, in that case you're stupid."

"No. Well yes, but… Argh! you get the main idea! My dad died at the war because he didn't wanted to kill the enemy in front of him! Blood only serves to wash ambition's hands, and if you don't have any, your own blood will wash another's hands. That's all. Life is meant to be like that. It's like playing chess: if you want to win then you'll have to-"

"Kill before being killed." Francis cut off.

"Exactly."

Francis stared at his best friend. Gilbert has changed a lot since the beginning of the war four years ago. He became much more introverted and cynical, it was hardly impossible to recognize Gil now.

"You're totally insane…."

"No I'm not. I'm realistic."

"Ambition doesn't mean that you have to be the best. Ambition is deeply linked to your dreams and hopes, and yes, if you dream of absolute power or being the number one in a way then you might need to crush some people. But not everybody dreams of that. Your dad aspired for a calm and happy life with his family and most of all peace to protect them."

"That's not ambition."

"It is, but people tends to prefer dark ambition stories because they make the books better. But ambition can be peaceful too you know. Your dad was one of those guys: he didn't want to die or go to war, but he wanted to protect you more. He died trying to stop the war."

"Well, that was stupid, you don't stop wars by standing in front of a gun with a piece of cake for the sniper."

"You don't stop wars by killing the sniper in front of his comrades eyes neither. He did what he thought was right for your safety, please respect that."

"Still think that was a stupid idea."

Francis sighed and stood up.

"You're really single-minded, no one can debate with you Gilbert."

"Hey! Where are you going? Are you leaving already Francis?"

"Yes, today's Sunday and it is nearly dinner time. I don't want to be late, my mum bakes biscuits every week. Bye."

"Bye, see you in school tomorrow."


End file.
